


Iron Hearts

by SirParacelsus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Fantasy, Gen, Politics, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24770620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirParacelsus/pseuds/SirParacelsus
Summary: An expedition from a civilization powered by steam encounters a new land, far more fantastical than anything they could ever imagine. A medieval yet magical civilization meets new people halfway across the globe. Things will begin to change, for the better or worse.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a brand new fanfic. This is a crossover between Fire Emblem Three Houses and an original steampunk setting created by myself. I plan to eventually make a solo story for the latter, but I couldn't resist writing this crossover. 
> 
> If I were to sum up the setting in a single sentence, I would call it a world of innovation and power...and radical ideals and revolution. More information about the nations of that world will be revealed in each chapter, but for now, I will tell you that the continent is vaguely 1920s like, but more steampunk. Regardless, onto the story!

**September, 1918**

**The Sea**

Across the sea, far to the west of Europa and Polaska, trailed a small ship. The RSS _Challenger_ sailed away on one of its many voyages to find and discover new lands, to no avail as usual. Commissioned by the Admiralty, the half military vessel and her crew were determined to try their damnedest to succeed this time, least they disappoint not only the frowning admiral, but the Kaiserin of Richterdris herself!

If there was one thing worth complaining about sea travel, then it was the relative boredom of it. One could only derive so much pleasure from staring out to the deep blue sea. Much of their journey had mainly consisted of travelling in the chosen direction and making sure to ‘map out’ the area and keep track of their location so as to not get lost from Reich mainland. 

So it was on their forty seventh day of travel did Captain Ernest Hunderman find himself dining with his officers. A quick meal of egg and sausage before going out to the usual daily routine. At least, that’s what he thought and honestly expected. Their mission to find new land had been, in his humble opinion, a thorough waste of time and resources. 

“Captain!” A voice cries out from behind the steel door. A nervous knocking, before the sailor finally pushed open the door. “Captain!” 

A few of the officers glared at the sailor, either because he had interrupted their breakfast port or because of his lack of decorum. Either was fine. “Speak, lad. This better be important," Ernest spoke, wiping his mouth. 

The sailor gulps and falls into a hasty salute, before speaking. “Captain...we’ve spotted ships directly ahead of us-”

“WHAT?!” Ernest stood up from his seat, his shout scaring the gunnery officer. “I thought we were the only ship in the area! Don’t tell me those blasted Albionians have sailed here as well.” If Richterdris intel failed to mention that he wasn't the only explorer out there, then he'd be sailing right back home! As if he'd waste any more time on this blasted expedition.

“But that’s the thing sir! They’re not Albion! Or Polaskan! Or any ship we know of,” the officer gulps, knowing well that his next words would change everything as they knew it. “Captain...those ships are unidentified wooden vessels that fly unknown colours. From what our spotters could tell, they seem to be fishermen…”

His words made everyone in the room freeze. Each and every one of them knew what that meant. A new civilization, found, at long long last. Their mission was not such a waste after all.

The captain's face grew grim and he turned to face his officers, who looked back at him in turn, their face all reflecting the severity of the situation. This mission turned from a search and discovery to first contact. They could not afford to fail. The hopes and dreams of Richterdris' diplomatic future with a potentially new nation all depended on the actions they would undertake.

“Greta,” Ernest says, addressing their chief engineer, “set the engines for full speed ahead. Alert the helmsman of their presence and send us to their side! We must make contact with them at all costs! Do your duty!” 

“””Yes sir!”””

And thus, the _Challenger_ became the first ship of Reich to ever make contact with a new nation across the sea. 

\---

**Horsebow Moon, 1177**

**Brigid**

King Fergus Macneary knew that his time was running short. He knew that fact when the invasion failed, when his son died, and when his once proud nation became just another vassal of the Empire. 

But today, that feeling was even worse. Every movement seemed to ache his bones and break his spirit. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep the day away, but he knew that there wasn’t the time for that. For that was the burden of the crown, and though he had failed his people, he was still the king. And a king had his duties.

As he walked through the halls of his palace, he saw his granddaughter waiting for him, a gentle smile on her face. The heiress to the throne, his only surviving family…it would be a lie to say that she was the light and joy of his sad life.

“Grandfather,” She says, stretching out her arm for him to take. “Did you sleep well?”

“Aye I did,” was his reply as he took it. No, he didn’t. The same nightmares that plagued him all those years ago plagued him till today. “What’s on today’s list, Petra?”

Before she could even get a word out, a messenger, Naoise, burst into the room. “Your majesty!” he cried, bending on his knee. “I bring urgent news from the docks!”

The brief moment he had with his family was gone in an instant. The kindly old grandfather disappeared, replaced by the weary king of Brigid. Quietly, he shrugs off Petra’s assistance, making his way towards the messenger. “Walk with me as we get there. Petra, stay here.” He hardly paid attention to her reply. There was a job to be done. 

Naoise rose, clearly nervous as the king passed by him, and soon the duo were off to the docks, past the idyllic homes and little businesses of his people.

“The people speak of a strange sight.” Naoise murmured towards him, ignoring the bows his people offered to their king. “A ship unlike any other we’ve seen, flying colours we do not recognise.” 

“Foreigners?” he grunts. “Here I was hoping for a quiet day. What do you think they want?”

The messenger did not reply, deeming his response unworthy. Instead, he forced his gaze to the docks, where a gathering was formed.

As they got closer, the sight of the strange ship came into view, and even he had to raise a brow in surprise. It’s design was unlike anything he had ever seen. It seemed to be entirely composed of steel rather than wood, and instead of sails, had two large funnels of steel. Part of him wondered how it stayed afloat, before his eyes turned to the flag affixed to it. 

At best, he could describe it as a white flag with a black cross in the middle of it. A gear was set in the centre of it all, with wings on either side. A curious design, if he could say so himself. What could it represent? 

He fixed his eyes onto the man leading a small party, and frowned. Each one of them looked more like someone from Fodlan than the other islands. Hell, if it wasn’t for their clothing and the ship, he’d have suspected this was some kind of breakaway nation. Maybe it was. Gods know the empire was splitting itself apart.

The lead man was a rather short gentleman, wearing a crisp blue outfit and a strange peaked cap. His hair was brown and his eyes a deep grey, a face worn weathered by years of seafaring. He was clearly trying to communicate with the people around him, clearly to no avail. Most likely a language barrier of some kind?

The elderly king sighed and stepped forward, gently brushing by the gathering crowd. “All right, what’s going on here?” The sight of their king caused many of the Brigiders to back away and bow, leaving a clear path for him to talk to the foreigner, whose eyes widened upon recognizing the high position he held. 

The stranger immediately spoke in the strange language of his, an inelegant bluster of words. Then, he frowned and swapped tongues before doing so again. Inwardly, the king frowned. So these people really were from another place entirely. Were they from across the continent? Or another place entirely?

Wherever they were, it seems the stranger had figured out a plan. Calling one his subordinates, the man clearly gave instructions to her, before turning to face the king. A few moments later, and the sailor returned, bearing the same flag from earlier. Spreading it out so that all could see it clearly, the lead man spoke.

“Rictherdris,” The man said, gesturing to it. “Richterdris.”

“Richterdris…” the messenger speaks, out of turn for once, his fear replaced by wonder. “Richterdris...could that be their homeland?” He looks to his king for support, only to find the elder frowning deeply.

“I’ve never heard of a ‘Richerdris’ before,” Fergus mutters. “If these people really are from another continent...then this could change everything. If the Empire hears of this…” Things would change. The nations of Fodlan would most likely treat these people with scorn, but...a look at the strange ship, the crisp uniforms of the foreigners. He had a feeling that this time, things would be different. 

For years, exploration out to the sea yielded nothing. All that was reported was a vast expanse of blue. Any more further, and ships from Dagda would assail and put an end to those efforts. News of another continent could spur a whole new era. But then there was the question; What would happen then?

These thoughts were shrugged aside as Fergus realized that he now had a new duty. To welcome these strangers into their harsh lands. And he’ll be damned if he could at least do one good deed before his soul was reclaimed by the gods. 

“Send a message to the Empire’s official, Naoise,” he commands. The messenger, seeing the determination in his eyes, flinched back before speeding off. Steeling himself, King Fergus of Brigid stepped forward, gesturing behind him. 

“Brigid,” he said, showing the foreigners his home, his people, and the land they inhabited. The stranger took a moment to realize what he said, before nodding. “Fergus,” he says next, pointing at himself. 

A moment passes. One of the strangers clenches a strange long wooden staff, then the leader stepped forward and stretched out his hand. At least some things stayed the same. “Ernest,” the man says, trading a name for a name. 

Quietly, Fergus steps forward, grabbing his hand and giving it a firm shake. 

Little did he know that by this little action, he had changed the history of the world, as he, and everyone else knew it.


	2. A Reactionary Parliament

**November, 1918**

**Parliamentary House, Richterdris**

Even though Richterdris was ruled by an empress, their power was far from absolute. Rather, power was distributed among representatives of the people, where every man and woman held power through their voices and votes. It was a just system, or so some claimed, as it allowed for the people to hold a relative influence when it came to government decisions. Like everything with democracy however, it had problems of its own.

The revered hall of Parliament was in an uproar as news of Captain Hundermann’s expedition to the east came back with results. The fact that new land had been discovered was pleasing news. The fact that it was inhabited by a medieval society brought...mixed, reactions, so to speak. 

“I say we leave them alone. It’s clear that they don’t want anything to do with us, why should we bother with them? Frankly, we have our own concerns at the moment,” said Representative Argus Souchy. 

Representative Rosa Merges clearly had other ideas. “You do realize what we have on our hands? A primitive society bound by the shackles of feudalism, crippled by their poor state of advancement and healthcare, and blinded by their beliefs. We have an obligation, to help them, to liberate them-”

“That’s an exaggeration and you know it!” 

Chancellor Reinol von Lorica sighed, rubbing his temple as the discussion dissolved into pointless bickering. Yes, this truly was the flaw of democracy; nobody could ever agree on what to do. The white haired man leaned back into his seat, pushing up his spectacles as he glared at the people around him.

Discussions about the good captain’s findings went back and forth, with one fellow even proclaiming it as a hoax or a ploy of some kind. 

“You seriously believe them?” a politician whose name evaded his mind spoke. “A grand new continent on the other side of the world? A society right out of a fairy tale? Dragons? Magic?!”

“We have definite proof of it now,” chimed in another, an elderly gentleman who went by Karloff. “both due to Captain Hundermann’s reports and...the recordings…”

Sure enough, in the centre of the room, stood a video projector. The little machine projected a beam of light towards a sheet of white film, showing forth the grandest discovery of the captain; magic. One of the native people of this ‘Brigid’ was showing off a so-called spell; conjuring a ball of fire from his palms before making it disappear, before doing the same with lightning and wind. 

“The implications are tremendous,” he began slowly, struggling to find his words. “Mass transportation in the blink of an eye, healing someone in poor health at a moment’s notice, calling down the elements on our foes...if we can teach our people this ‘magic’ then it could possibly change the world as we know it... then again, I suppose this discovery already changed much…” 

“It could very much be our salvation. Yet it could be our doom,” a strong voice declared. All eyes turned to the hulking figure of Representative Kirstein, a former captain of the Imperial Army. “This could spark a race of the likes we’ve never heard of. It could possibly lead to another war.”

At her words, a few of the people in the room shuddered involuntarily. A politician stood up, face twisted in anger. “That’s going too far! Now’s not the time to mention a possibility so soon! Not after what we’ve been through…” Anything that could have made sense was drowned out by a series of roars and exclamations, the chaos of parliament once more resuming.

As the pointless back and forth between his peers went on, Reinol decided that now was perhaps the best time to intervene. He’d had enough time to gather his thoughts anyways.

“If we could all settle down for the time being, then I had a few points that I’d like to put forward myself,” he spoke, standing up. 

It took awhile for the noise to die down, the arguments slowing down to a titter as they all turned to face him. Well, being Chancellor certainly had its perks. “It is clear that there is no easy solution to this, but may I make a proposal?”

Hardly waiting for confirmation, he spoke on. “It is clear that engaging with these people would have its dangers, but learning of this ‘magic’ becomes paramount. I won’t deny the risk of starting an arms race however...which is why I propose that we share this information with our fellows.”

Sure enough, his words lit up a whole new stream of protest. A roar of outrage from many of the nationalistic parties followed by boos and cries of protest. 

“Are you mad! Chancellor, with all due respect, those bastards will gladly destroy us! Let’s not give them any more ammunition than they have!” was the outraged cry of them. 

Those on the other side of the spectrum, were clearly interested in what they had to say. Thankfully, they at least had the sense to wait for whatever else he had to say. Slamming his fist down onto the table, he spoke, his voice far more louder and commanding. 

“As I have said, whether we like it or not, our discoveries with the world at large to ensure that our relations with the other nations remain positive.” Or the closest thing to positive they can get. “And if that means sharing magic with them, then so be it.” 

He breathes, taking the moment to look around the hall. Sure enough, the outrage had quieted down to an extent, allowing him to continue speaking. Damn, he hated talking. “And in order to learn this magic and foster new relations with this ‘Fodlan’, I propose this; we send a small diplomatic force to Fodlan, consisting of politicians, scholars, and soldiers. We learnt their language, their magic, whatever. And then, perhaps-” 

A gesture towards Representative Merges, “-we share our technology and ideas with them. Uplift the population, as some would say. But. We shall not, under ANY circumstances, involve ourselves in their affairs,” Now to Representative Souchy “, as it has been clearly pointed out, we have problems of our own to deal with. Now, if anyone else has any other suggestions, I beg you to say it now, or shall we put this to a vote?”

For a moment, there was silence, before discussion began to spring up in some areas, albeit far more subdued than earlier. Though this time, Reinol knew that he had them in the palm of his hand. There will be objections, but he was certain that once they put this to the vote, it will be in full agreement of his plan. For now.

His eyes drifted over to the right corners of the hall, where the nationalist and expansionist parties. Once, they were the leading forces of Reich’s government, now they were the scapegoats and the condemned, the people said to be responsible for the Great War. Their voices were unheard among the discussions. But he would plan for them, as he always did.

Smiling darkly to himself, Reinol returns to his seat, clasping his hands before his face and resting them on his chain. All according to plan, as per usual. 

\---

**Red Wolf Moon, 1177**

**Garreg Mach Monastery, Fodlan**

She of all people knew of the true worth of praying to the goddess. The fruitlessness of it, of how no matter how heartful one prayer may be, that there would be no one to hear them. But still she prayed, still she hoped, that perhaps, the goddess could hear her voice still? And so she kneeled in the chapel, her hands clasped and her head bowed in the perfect image of a devout archbishop she pretended to be. 

Footsteps on cold marble, each step with brisk purpose. Quietly, Rhea rose, facing towards her right hand man and perhaps the closest person she had to a friend. “Hello Seteth. I trust things are going well?”

The green haired man frowned, folding his arms. “Well as they could be. But I’m not here for that. I’m here to say that the knights sent to Brigid have returned. The rumours are true. Strange men from across the sea have reached Fodlan.” 

Rhea closes her eyes, bowing her head. “Goddess guide us,” she prayed, more out of habit this time, “, these times really are changing aren’t they? Where are they now?”

“They’ve left for their homeland, it seems,” he answers, “But they have given ‘gifts’ so to speak. A few books, which I hope are dictionaries and so on forth. The people of Brigid have done the same and a couple of our knights have brought some back.”

“Have our linguistic experts study them,” Rhea says, even though she knew Seteth would have already given the order. To think that after all these years, people did exist out there in the seas beyond. She honestly didn’t expect to see that humans still existed so far away. A stray thought enters her mind, one she knew the answer for already. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, before hastily clarifying himself upon noticing her raised brow. “, believe it or not, from what I’ve heard, they don’t seem to have magic. It would be simple to assume they would return again, perhaps to at least learn more.” 

“No magic?” She repeats, honestly confused this time. Then how on earth did they manage? Perhaps a question she could ask them should they ever return. 

“Rhea,” he was giving her a pointed stare now. “, it would be prudent to assume these strangers may return with hostile intentions. I propose marshalling the knights for-”

“No,” Her reply was firm. She knew why he would think about things like those so soon, but she had to assume these strangers had only the best intentions. If she didn’t, then who will? Treating people with paranoia and fear would only serve to make things worse in the end. One look at Duscar was all the evidence needed. 

Seteth seemed ready to protest, but a raise of her hand quelled his thoughts. “We will speak of this another time. Your words hold wisdom, but trust in them is needed. Besides, a sign of our forces getting ready could cause weariness among the students and the other nations. We don’t need to start a panic about these people. For now, we play it safe.”

He looked as if he had to swallow a lemon, all things considered, but he quickly hid his displeasure. “Well...if you insist.” Seteth sighed, before making his way out of the chapel. “I shall go and check up on the professors. I’m afraid Professor Ansley may not be performing up to standard nowadays. Perhaps we should consider a replacement one of these days.” And with that, he was off, probably to give the poor man a scolding. 

Rhea closes her eyes, before bowing down to resume her prayers. Thoughts of wild eyed barbarians invading their lands from across the sea entered her mind, but she pushed them aside. Perhaps Seteth’s words did hold merit. Regardless, she had to believe in them, even if that notion was nothing but a lie. After all, if she didn’t, who would? 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are again with another chapter! Here we take a look at Reich's parliament and the thoughts that go through them, as well as a look at Rhea and Seteth, who also gave some background regarding the First Contact days. I'm hoping to make a semi-regular update schedule so let's see how it goes!
> 
> I would also like to announce that I am looking for beta readers to help me out with this wild story of mine. Feel free to privately contact me here or on Discord! My account name is Paracelsus #8852. Special thanks to my good friend Cef and the people of the Fanfiction Treehouse who really helped me out.


	3. To the New World

**December, 1918**

**Wolfshaven Docks, Richterdris**

The snowfall of winter blanketed the winding streets and towering buildings of Richterdris, a bone chilling breeze shifting through the people. Nobody was free from the harsh weather, rich or poor, though more often than not, it was the latter that dealt with it worse for wear. It was almost surreal to walk through the docks, seeing mounds and mounds and dirty snow piling up on the streets, the usual bombastic air more subdued. Even after the bombings and riots of the war, nothing had seemed to changed in the docks. The only difference perhaps being the massive reconstruction works that took place.

Lieutenant Fabian von Lorica could scarcely remember the last time he had been here. Perhaps in his youth, he may have visited this place, but it would have certainly left a mark in his mind if he had. The sheer amount of filth would’ve burned itself into his senses.

He blinks away the snow that covered his vision, taking a look back at the small section of soldiers behind him. Each of them looked as if they had been marching for days on end, but he knew that it was simply the stress of being in a place like this. People like them were not welcomed in this part of the city, and the denizens of this place knew how to show it.

Idly, he wonders if he should encourage them, as their leading officer. But then he shook his head. No, these rookies needed to get used to this, or else they’ll never last out there in the field. Nevertheless…

“Keep at it. We should be there soon,” he found himself saying, throwing a glance in their direction as they passed by yet another bombed out warehouse. He could hear the shouts of construction workers, the whirring of machines and other gears as they went on with their impossible task in the freezing winter.

A groan from his troops replied, and he shakes his head. "Lieutenant, pardon me for speaking out of place, but this is intolerable and we haven't even left the city yet." He held himself back from snidely responding, and chose to keep his quiet. Hopefully, this expedition would toughen them up.

The small section of soldiers marched by dilapidated warehouses and steam powered automobiles, dodging by throngs of dockers and sailors. The pungent scent of waste, rotten fish, and industrial exhaust filled the air, causing even the stoic Fabian to to wrinkle his nose 

in disgust. 

“I’d trade the Empire for a mask at this rate,” one of the soldiers mutters under her breath, her comments not unnoticed by her fellows. 

  
  
“Yeah sure, make us stand out even more in this place. If another one of those bastards throws a rock, I will lose it.” A round of murmured agreement came from the small group sans Fabian, who simply chose to keep his quiet, instead choosing to keep a wary eye on his surroundings.    
  


As they made their way through the docks, his eyes caught that of a street urchin, who quickly ducked and scampered away, taking away a pack of stolen goods.. A street vendor screamed his wares, before choking on the rancid air upon spotting them, immediately packing his things and hurrying away. Whispers and glances followed them wherever they went, as the poor and downtrodden of the capital wondered of their presence.

They rounded a corner, and once more found themselves directly in the path of another throng of dockers. Inwardly suppressing a groan, they march forward. “Make way! Make way!” the lieutenant cries, hoping that they would part with little complaint. 

One of them, their leader by the looks of it, sneered, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Oi! Look what we ‘ave here boys, it’s the dogs of the Chancellor!” And per his luck, they didn’t. The man spat at his feet as he stepped closer, right up towards him. He bares his teeth in an ugly snarl, his breath reeking of cheap booze. “What do you want? Here to lay down the law, eh?”

Fabian bites his lip, concealing his weariness. “Make way, citizen, and all shall be well.” His hands twitched towards his sabre, but he held himself back. No use in escalating this.

“That’s all you have to say?” The drunkard spread out his arms, circling around him, “No threats? Non-compliance won’t get me arrested? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” He turns to his drunken fellows, and roars in approval. “Will you look at that, lads! These fine gentlemen think they can get away by being all nice and cushy. Where was this attitude a year ago? Maybe I’d have invited you for tea if you came all fine and dandy like that!” A resounding yell from the dockers follow. Fabian could barely hear the sound of reconstruction over the racket. 

He could see one of his men reach for his gun, but a quiet shake of his head deterred him from taking any further action. “They’re not worth it. Resume marching. We’re late.” The soldier reluctantly complied, still keeping an eye on the angered expressions of the mob around them, even as they began their quiet march to the piers.

The dockers sneered at his words, choosing to boo with some even having the gall to throw bits of gravel and rubbish at them. “Get out of here! One day, all of you lot will pay for what you've done to this country!” 

Even as the section increased the distance between themselves and the mob, they still continued to scream and holler insults at them. “Everyone one of you will pay! You took my sons from me you bastards! I’ll have you all hanged, you hear me! Each and every single one of you!”

The drunkard’s yells soon became just another noise on the cold breeze as rounded off another corner and into the piers, where the hulking shape of Reich’s ships dotted the area. A sigh of relief issued out from his underlings as they reached relative safety. “Bloody hell, he had not an ounce of calm in him at all, didn’t he? Could you believe what he said?”

“Sons must’ve been conscripts,” Another soldier mutters, shivering slightly. “I doubt they survived.” A silence falls across the section. Someone coughs uncomfortably.

“Dogs of the Chancellor? Thank heavens they didn’t recognize who you are, lieutenant.” She says. 

“Mhm,” Fabian mutters, hiding a wince. That insult hit too close to home, relatively speaking. “would’ve caused a riot right then and there.” 

Talk dies down as the march goes on, until finally, the massive hulls of far more studier ships loom into view. A collective sigh of relief as they reach more friendly territory, though the sight before them sends many of them reeling in surprise.

The entire pier was filled with soldiers, a veritable sea of grey uniforms coated in white snow. Most of the troops were simply sitting or standing, occasionally chatting in between shivers from the sheer cold. Meanwhile, military transport vehicles were slowly loading up onto their battlecruiser, with personnel shouting and hollering over the din. 

“Shit,” Fabian says, uncharacteristically irate upon spotting the mess. He looks the closest officer he could find, a young woman chomping down on a cigar “What’s the holdup? I thought we were supposed to be ready to depart an hour ago?” 

“We got held up by riots, and now we’re off schedule.” She rather laconically explains, puffing up a plume of smoke. “somebody mixed up orders and now everybody’s confused as to how to get on board. We should be out soon at least.”

“Right…” Fabian trails off, looking back at the troops following him. All of them were tired and dirty from their long walk and were most likely demoralized from the contant spite of the dockers. Spending an hour or so in the cold won’t improve things, but there were no other options. Besides, maybe this experience will harden them for the future. 

“Get yourselves comfy. We’re going to be here for a long while.” To their credit, they did their best to not show their disappointment, something he was glad for. As they moved to rejoin the freezing column, his thoughts wandered to the docker from before. 

Just another tragedy of the war, he supposed. One of the thousands that had been left in the wake of the five year catastrophe. He wonders if he ever met the sons of the man, but such thoughts were soon banished.

There was no use in dwelling in the past anymore. The war was over, and that’s all that mattered. There was a duty to do now, and like a good soldier, he would see it done, no matter what it would take. The young trooper turns his head, once more taking one last look at the city he would once more leave again.

He had to. For the Richterdris. For Father. 

\---

On December 17, 1918, Richerterdris’ diplomatic mission to the newly discovered continents had begun. Sailing eastwards from Reich through the freezing waters of Polaska and into the vast blue sea, the expedition fleet was on its way to make history once and for all.

Commissioned by the Parliament of Richterdris and approved by the Kaiserin, the captains of the small fleet were explicitly ordered to establish diplomatic relations with the nations of Fodlan or any other nation willing to communicate. Failure was unacceptable, as the boons of such a relationship were far too great to be dismissed.

The fleet consisted of three ships, with the Challenger leading the way. Following her was the cargo ship, Gearing, and the battlecruiser Dresden, with the former assigned to ferry supplies and fuel and the latter assigned to guard the fleet at all costs. Their crew consisted of diplomats and scholars, though a small battalion of soldiers were to accompany them.

The course plotted would take at least a month of seafaring to reach Fodlan, with several stops at Polaskan ports to resupply themselves. The Old World eagerly awaited for news as the fleet sailed on, until, finally, the shores of Brigid came into view.

And nothing would be the same ever again. 

\---

**Guardian Moon, 1177**

**Brigid, New World**

Being a princess meant that one had responsibilities. It meant one had expectations to live up, that there were certain ‘dos’ and certain ‘don’ts’. Even if Brigid traditions made her life more flexible, it still wasn’t free from the burden all royals faced. One of such burdens was the attendance of royals during visits by foreign dignitaries. 

Ever since the appearance of these ‘Richtermen’ there’s been an awful lot of strange people coming in from ‘those bastards in the Empire’ as grandfather would tell her. They were a lot more different than her people. Those pale robed men and women would barge around wherever they went, complaining in their own language as they investigated and interrogated the people about those foreigners. 

Still, at least those ‘knights of say-ros’ were polite. The large one with the mustache seemed to enjoy making jokes and laughing if his interactions with father seemed to be an indication. If only she could understand them.

Her face wrinkled at the thought of trying to learn not only the language of Fodlan, but the stuff these Richtermen spoke, as grandfather insisted on it. Learning new stuff was hard. It was far better to just hunt out in the woods and bring back food for the people. 

Her thoughts must’ve been made apparent, for grandfather nudged her gently. She shook her head, remembering exactly why she was here. 

The foreigners had come once more to visit Brigid, and this time, they were prepared. An iron ship, so impossibly large and grand that she couldn’t even fathom how it stayed afloat, had anchored itself on the port of the town. Unlike before, not many had left it. Instead, strange men in dark grey uniforms holding long wooden staffs stayed on the deck, nervously eyeing the people on the boardwalk. 

Upon sighting them, grandfather immediately prepared a group of dignitaries, herself among them due to her status as princess. And that brought her to her current predicament now, standing aside her father dressed in the traditional animal hide garments of their homeland, with her father donning on an eagle feather hat to signify his status as king. The knights and empire-bastards were also there, standing nervously besides the main Brigid group. 

Soon, a steel ramp began to slide down from the ship and within seconds, the forms of the Reich diplomats made themselves known. The first to appear was the familiar form of Captain Hundermann, whom she had met during his original expedition here. Following him was an eldery man with silvery hair and a beard. And behind them all, was a grey eyed man with neatly combed blonde hair, and unlike the others, who wore strange dark silk outfits, had donned the same grey uniform of the other men aboard.

Hundermann greeted the King with a bow, and nodded at the others in the group, with the two other men doing the same. A scrawny woman (must be a scholar, she assumed) quickly ran up and caught up with them. 

“P-presenting...Richterdris!” she says in horrible Brigidian, her accent so strange that she barely stifled a laugh. “Captain Ernest Hundermann, Ambassador Darius Voight, Colonel Irvin Schmidt.” With each name, she gestured towards each man, who all nodded in turn. 

Whether or not her father was offended by the butchery of their tongue, he didn’t show it, instead choosing to stand straighter as he spoke, in what had to be perfect Richter, “I am King Fergus Macneary of Brigid, vassal to the Empire.”

It was clear his words shocked the foreigners, who looked at each other in surprise, before Darius stepped forward to shake her grandfather’s hand, which he returned. The woman continued to speak, “We are...here...to make...peace-ful relationship with Brigid and Empire.”

Whispers erupted from the crowd she was in, with the empire-bastards frowning deeply. The knights showed no emotion, though their leader seemed almost happy upon hearing that. 

“And I, with the Empire of Richterdris,” grandfather said, nodding in approval. “I hope that from this day on, our peoples can co-exist peacefully. May I present to you my granddaughter, Petra Macneary, heir to the throne.”

While she didn’t understand most of what he said, she recognized her name and immediately stood straighter, following this with a theatrical bow. Her grandfather smiled, and went on, “Captain Alois Rangeld of the Knights of Seiros-” the moustached man steps forward, nodding with a small smile, “- and Count Alfred von Vortigern of the Adrestian Empire.” The count huffs and folds his arms, choosing to say nothing. 

“Please, if you may make our way to the palace, there we can properly discuss.” Her father gestured with a hand, taking a few steps towards the palace as the Fodlan emissaries moved.

The Richtermen shared a look, before the colonel gestured for a few of those men in grey to follow, and soon, the whole party was heading their way towards the palace.

To make history, Petra thought, as she took one last glance at the massive metal ship of Richterdris. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo again! Another chapter posted, this time with a look at what's going on in Richterdris. We finally meet our main protagonist, Fabian! Huzzah! The diplomatic mission to Fodlan has kicked off and negotiations have finally begun! 
> 
> I'd like to thank my friend Cef and my beta Natia for helping me out with this chapter, as well as the folks of the Fanfiction Treehouse! Seriously you guys helped me a lot!
> 
> Should be noted that the Empire of Reich has been renamed to Richterdris, 
> 
> Join us at the Fanfiction Treehouse! https://discord.gg/9XG3U7a


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